


Belief

by valkyrienix



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 16:38:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2157696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valkyrienix/pseuds/valkyrienix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a flash in your mind, a moment of deja vu, as you recall the last time the two of you were in these positions.  You’d been cleaning your cover-up off for him.  He’d looked at you like there was nothing that meant more to him in the universe.  You’re not sure of that now, but he’s looking at you that same way again.</p>
<p>If your heart could still beat, it would be pounding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Belief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jvced](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jvced/gifts), [flare299](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flare299/gifts).



> i ju st need ed to write this sc enE SO BAD

Simon takes you back to Amy’s bungalow after the doctors send you away. They don’t want you there. You’re too emotional, they’d said. They couldn’t take care of things properly with you there, is what they’d said. You hadn’t been doing anything but holding her hand, holding onto it as if maybe her hand would grant you life again. They’d let Simon take you away, but you don’t want to be here right now. You want to be with Amy. You want to hold her hand, beg her to open her eyes, speak to you, no matter how fruitless your pathetically rotten brain knows it to be.

His arms hold you tightly, encircling you as he takes you into her home, and the two of you stand there for a few moments, in near silence, your tears muffled into the collar of his suit. He doesn’t say a word, just holds you, one hand on the back of your head and the other on your back, pressing you into his body like he never wants to let you go. It’s comforting, and you appreciate it, really you do. Yet...

“I can’t be here, Simon,” you murmur into his collar as your hands grip the back of his suit tightly. It feels frayed, like it’s been worn too many times, and you recall that this was the clothing he was buried in. “Not here,” you repeat.

He nods wordlessly, seeming to realize that he’s made a mistake, and he leads you to his room, where he sits you down on his bed after he closes the door behind him. There’s a flash in your mind, a moment of deja vu, as you recall the last time the two of you were in these positions. You’d been cleaning your cover-up off for him. He’d looked at you like there was nothing that meant more to him in the universe. You’re not sure of that now, but he’s looking at you that same way again.

If your heart could still beat, it would be pounding.

“Let’s clean you up,” he says after a moment. You nod wordlessly as he takes out towels, and you almost go up and follow after him when he leaves to grab water and soap but he gives you this look that you know means to stay. He’s gone for barely three minutes, but it’s enough that the pang of Amy’s--Jesus Christ, you can’t even think the words. It hurts more with Simon out of the room, becomes more poignant.

She’d been your first friend in this second life, the first person to try to make a connection with you, the first person who’d cared and empathized and knew you better than you knew yourself. You didn’t know it at the time but she’d read you like a book and you’d all too gladly turned the pages for her.

There’s water on your face, wet and sliding off your skin as Simon begins to wash away the blood you’d coughed up during your relapse of sanity. You watch, somewhat disgusted, as the water in the small bucket he’d brought back blackens, but his thumbs are near your mouth, smoothing out your expression as he makes sure that he’s got your attention. “Don’t look like that,” he says softly.

“Like what?” you reply, somewhat indignantly, and you pull away from his touch. He drops his hand, and you regret it immediately.

“She wouldn’t’ve wanted you to have that expression on your face, Kieren,” he says softly.

You’re immediately furious, standing up and pushing away from him and storming towards the door. But you don’t leave. You can’t leave. If you step out of this room you’re going to see her. Every inch of the place was stamped with her presence, with her spirit. Even this room had traces of her, but they were more subdued. They were few enough that you could breathe, could take it. “ _Don’t,_ ” you say harshly, “tell me what she would or wouldn’t’ve wanted.”

He stands from his kneeling position, towel dropping to the floor and momentarily forgotten. “Alright,” he replies calmly. “I won’t.”

You both stand there for a moment, silent and staring at each other, at an impasse, before he crouches to grab the towel and wets it again, and coming over to wash the remnants. There’s less than you’d assumed there was, but it’s enough that you’re disgusted with yourself. It’s enough that you’re angry and hurting and that you desperately want to give Gary a good sock in the face.

“I’m not disgusted because that’s mine,” you murmur softly, flicking your gaze from where it had been resting on his tie to meet his own. He raises a brow upward. It’s not condescending, nor is it in that arrogant way that he does sometimes where he’ll purse his lips ever so slightly, the corner of his mouth tilted upward in a sardonic twist, the look that makes you want to give him a good smack; it’s a curious look, so you press onward, saying, “I’m disgusted because I let that happen.”

“You were a lot stronger than most of us could’ve ever been,” he replies after a moment of what appears to be heavy consideration. There’s a weight behind his words, and you hold it close to you, relieved to know he means every word. When did you hold onto his every word like this? “No one’s fought off the effects before.”

“I almost _killed_ my _dad,_ ” you say exasperatedly, throwing your arms up halfway in an attempt to get your frustration out before letting them fall uselessly to your sides.

“Almost,” he says, and he cups your face, running his thumb along your jawline, and you let him, despite knowing what’s coming next. You turn away at the last moment, as his lips near your own and you can feel the breaths he takes out of habit rather than need, and put as much effort as you can into whispering:

“Not now, Simon. I can’t. Not right now.”

He stops, pulls away ever so slightly, and then nods and tugs you into his embrace once more. You stand there, silent this time, tears no where to be found for the time being. There’s another thing inside you that’s died today, and you remain unsure how to stop the feeling of part of you emptying and lying itself bare before some sick version of Jesus Christ.

“It’s gonna be alright,” he says into your hair as you grip at the back of his suit again. You take hold of those words, squeeze them tight, and hope they carry some seed of truth.


End file.
